Le Ciel
by Ryuuza
Summary: TaitoYamachi. Stardom has left Yamato jaded and distanced from his friends. Will he let love bring him back? Angst, angst, angst, and shounen-ai.


_Disclaimer:_ I hereby "disclaim" Digimon. I don't own it. [raises eyebrow] Do figure.

_Warnings:_ Yaoi (male x male), AU-ish?, angst, angst, angst, language…

_Author's Notes:_ I adore Taito to pieces. (This obsession was born of boredom. Let it be known that sheer boredom is dangerous...it spawned my obsession over 1x2, Taito, and Hikaru no Go yaoi fics, among other things. Like this fic.) I don't think I quite meant to write this fic…at least not quite this way…but hey, stuff happens. I felt so horrible though! Poor Tai. [sniffle…sob…waaaah] I need some fluff now, yes, much Taito fluff. Do review.

**Le Ciel**

By Ryuuza

Ishida Yamato was a player. It was a universally acknowledged fact—a fact so obvious, it was left unspoken. Of course, if asked whether or not he was a player, Yamato would deny it. He had an image as the adorably blonde, and if not innocent, at least untouchable, member of his rock band. Some things, universally acknowledged or not, just couldn't be confirmed publicly without a lawsuit from an angry management at the backlash from the media.

But the honest-to-God truth was that Yamato was a player. There was no denying it or getting around it. And though he could and would never admit it out loud, somewhere deep in his subconscious, he recognized the statement as true.

He had the looks, fame, and charm to get anything he wanted—and some things he didn't—including the attention of numberless girls, and a disturbing number of boys as well. He was young, true, not yet reaching his twenties, but that fact did little in detracting from his social life. He had more dates in a month than all his birthdays added up together and more offers than all the cities he'd visited on tour (which, believe me, were quite a lot).

But it was what he lacked that really made him a player, not what he had. Yamato lacked compassion—stardom had made him jaded, for some odd, unfathomable reason—and more noticeably, respect, for the women (and men) who threw themselves at him. He had been raised to treat women with respect…he had been raised to be heterosexual too. But, ah, bi was close, wasn't it? Anyhow, if the sluts were going to dress in clothes with a neckline down the here and a hemline up to there, and flirt blatantly, then he was going to accept their offers at face value.

He wasn't ashamed of his capacity to use the women, one by one, night after night, to satisfy his need. He used to be. But he'd adjusted. Life on the road did that to you. When you were separated from your friends, and your childhood, and your innocence, you tended to grow distant from the person you used to be. You grow harder, more cynical, and further away from the ideal you used to want to be.

But that was life.

It wasn't as if the people who approached him—male or female—didn't know his expectations. They also knew his stand on commitment: he didn't do commitment. He'd…he'd done it once…sort of, but it'd all fallen apart after he'd gone big. After he'd chosen to pursue his dreams instead of his relationship. Tai had probably forgiven him for that; he was that kind of guy. It was a shame he didn't move on though, then maybe, Yamato would feel less guilty.

He tried not to dwell on that. It wasn't as if he could bring Tai along with him, after all. It was his career or his boyfriend and he'd already chosen. So maybe he was chasing after a futile dream, and endless _l'arc__ en ciel_. But the people who warmed his bed eased the emptiness a little. They knew what they were getting into. They were all willing. And Yamato was only human.

Imperfectly so.

So, Yamato continued to do what he was expected to do. He sang and posed and smiled for the media. He made money. He signed autographs, he said sweet things that made the fangirls fall all over themselves, he perfected a laugh that made them swoon, grew out his hair to hide his eyes (they were so often cold, sometimes sad, mostly bitter, and that didn't fit his image, did it?), and made money. He played the guitar, he brooded in a very _bishounen_ way, he did commercials for hair care products. He made money. And he unlocked his hotel room door for anyone he wished.

It was his life.

"That's pathetic," Sora spat out. "It's disgusting and pathetic."

Of all his former friends, of all the former DigiDestined, Yamato was closest to Takeru, of course, but he had stayed in touch with Sora over the years. It hadn't really been a choice on his part; she'd been stubborn enough to fight any fight to get through to him. She called all the time, wrote letters, demanded responses. He didn't know if he welcomed her presence or her reminder of his past, but he had gotten used to her badgering.

She was in college now, majoring in—he paused. He had no idea what the hell she was majoring in, though he was sure she'd told him at some point. He probably hadn't been listening. He rarely did anymore. Tuning her out had become an art and one necessary for the continuance of his life the way it was.

He wasn't sure he was happy continuing his life the way it was, but he didn't see any reason for change. It…worked. And few things did when you were this famous.

Sora was currently berating him for his "pathetic" life. Yamato listened with only half an ear as he dressed for a night out at the clubs.

"Are you listening?" demanded Sora.

Her angry voice ringing over the phone, Yamato winced and lied, "Yeah, I'm listening." He glanced at the mirror and ran a hand through his hair. Women liked the "rumpled" look, he'd discovered. His shoulder-length, tousled blonde hair usually did the job. With a smirk to himself, he thought a two hour concert and the afterward…activities…ought to "rumple" him up all right.

"Yamato…" His friend—could he still call her a friend?—sighed, her irritation deflating. "I wish you'd just wake up and realize that you're acting like…like a typical rock star cliché. You perform, you go out, get drunk, pick up a groupie, screw her, and wake up in the morning not knowing her name. You're treating women like trash, Matt!"

He tensed. "Don't call me that," he said in clipped tones. "It's Yamato." He'd dropped the friendly shortening of his name soon after he'd become famous. It really was a moot point when he didn't have any friends, wasn't it?

"Yamato…" she said softly, and he thought she sounded incredibly sad.

He snorted. "Quit the pity party, Sora. It's not like they don't already treat themselves like that," he retorted, pulling on a tan leather jacket. His fans also liked it when he looked older than he was… Made them feel less like pedophiles, he thought humorlessly. "Look," he said, "I only treat the fans the way they treat themselves. If they dress like sluts and talk like whores, then I do what they ask and fuck 'em. If they actually seem to have a modicum of respect for themselves, dress decently, and have conversations about normal things—"

"You avoid them like the plague," finished Sora, sounding disgusted.

He paused. "Yeah, something like that." Yamato rolled his eyes. "I don't fuck people who don't ask for it."

Sora sounded frustrated as she protested, "But that's no excuse! Okay, sure, the groupies you're around throw themselves at you, but that doesn't mean you have to take up their offers! You're only encouraging them to act like sluts…supporting their low self-esteem issues," she paused, thinking of some of the girls she'd seen or knew personally, "or utter depravity, by agreeing with them—that they're not better for anything but a quick fuck. _Yamato_!" Her annoyance was returning. "I can't believe a friend of mine could be such a _bastard_."

He was silent for a long moment, staring at himself in the mirror. Blonde hair, blue eyes, angel-bright, brittle as glass… The media's darling. "Sora," he said in very chilled tones, "we're not friends."

She drew in a sharp breath. It was the first time he'd said that to her in all the years she'd been keeping in touch with him, the Rock Star. Then she said, "You don't just stop being friends with someone Yamato. You _don't_." She rushed on as if he were about to interrupt her, which he was on the verge of doing, actually, "You had the Crest of Friendship, dammit, you can't just _abandon_ us! We can't—we _won't_ just abandon you." Now she sounded near tears. "We won't."

Had he ever made her cry?

"We won't let you be this bigshot popstar, Matt, we _care_ about you. We don't want you to use people, we don't want you to abuse your fame! We don't want to lose you to this…this…shell of what Yamato used to be! This cynical, jaded, horrible person that's pretending to be Matt but isn't!" she raged desperately. "And it's not just me! All of us, Matt, all of us…" Her voice broke. "Me, Mimi, Jyou, Koushirou, Kari, Daisuke, Ken…Tai."

Yamato froze. "I _don't_—" he started angrily. He didn't want to hear that name, he didn't want it to trigger those painful memories, that hole that he'd done his best to fill, he _didn't_, he couldn't—

"Takeru!" cried Sora. "Your own brother, Matt—Yamato. God, I don't even know what to call you anymore." She exhaled in frustration, anger, sadness… He didn't know what. "Do you even know what you've done to him?"

Now she was just making him angry. "I've done nothing to him," he snapped, "I've done nothing _wrong_, dammit! I'm the one who had to raise him, to care for him, I've _always_ had his interests first! Don't you _dare_ accuse me of leading Takeru astray!"

"Really? Then explain why he's turning into a heartless bastard? Just like his older brother? Just like you!" At Yamato's silence, she continued on angrily, "That's right, Yamato. You claim to be his role model…you claim he looks up to you. Well, you sure as hell better hope that's not true or else Keru is going to end up as horrible as you and I, for one, like him the way he is now. With a _heart!_"

Hoping to sound confident, unwilling to let Sora—that nosy, interfering, bossy, _ex_-friend of his—see just how much her words had affected him, Yamato replied derisively, "Yeah right. Don't try to lie to me, Sora. Takeru's not gonna turn player on me. He's hardly been on any dates! The boy is barely fifteen!"

"Um, like, I'm sorry, I forgot you know it all, you conscientious _aniki_ who calls every day to check up on him! You haven't spoken to the boy in weeks, you jerk!" Sora sounded furious and Yamato was pretty sure that if she could've, she would've reached through the phone lines to throttle him. "He just broke up with his girlfriend," she sneered. "When one has a _girlfriend_, it usually means they've been on _dates_."

"That doesn't mean anything! So he's been on a date or two, that doesn't mean he's becoming a player. Hell, if he had a girlfriend, it proves he's serious about girls."

"Shows how much _you_ know."

Yamato waited for her to continue, but silence reigned. "What?" he demanded, gripping his cell phone so hard his knuckles turned white. "_What_ don't I know about TK?" He flicked a glance into the mirror, noticing that his face was red and he was gritting his teeth. Sora had him all worked up over the stupid issue. Who the hell was she to assume all this— It was hard to breathe.

His world was _not_ shattering around him.

No matter how hard she tried to crack the glass he'd so carefully erected.

"Tell me," he commanded.

"In the last month," Sora ground out, conveying her fury even across an ocean and a continent, "Takeru has gone out with eight girls. Count 'em. _Eight_. Two a week. Practically broke my heart—and you should've seen Kari! She was in tears! And this only after that stupid girl of yours—Momo or some flaky name like that—spilled to the press that you were 'dating', quote, unquote, three to four girls a week. What kind of example are you setting for him?!"

Holy mother of… Yamato swore under his breath. He remembered Momo. After her little stunt, management had been furious…to say nothing of his band. He'd been pretty pissed off himself. Management had deducted three grand off his pay to quiet the girl and order her to admit that she'd been lying, jealous because she'd been dumped. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford the money, it was just the whole idea of having to shut her up.

The whole idea of having to shut her up because _she was telling the truth_.

Damn.

And Takeru… There was no way in hell Yamato was going to let…

"I'll talk to him," he muttered into the phone.

Sora snorted. "Like that'll help. He'll just think you're a bloody hypocrite. You tell him to stop dating so many girls…but what are you doing? The exact same thing you're telling him not to!"

The saying "Do as I say and not as I do" came to mind, but Yamato brushed it away. "What do you want me to do?" he growled, pacing his hotel room.

"Quit treating your fans like trash and _stop being a player_!" Sora voice softened. "Simple as that."

Simple as that. _Simple_ as that. Obviously, she had no idea just what she was asking of him. It wasn't _simple as that_; it wasn't _simple_ at all! She didn't have a clue just what he was going through, how could she even begin to comprehend that, for him, quitting being a player wasn't anywhere as easy as she believed.

How else was he going to keep from going insane?

How else was he going to keep away Tai's face, Tai's voice, Tai's laughter, Tai's touches, Tai's… He suppressed a groan. _Taichi_.

He stopped in front of the sliding doors that led to the balcony and stared out at the nightscape of…wherever the hell he was. Somewhere in the United States.

"Sora," he sighed, some of his anger fading. He was such a mess. What was he going to do?

It wasn't her fault that he couldn't forget Tai. It was his own.

His own stupidity, his own selfishness, his own self-righteousness that had come back to bite him in the ass. He had gotten himselt to this grand, glorious pedestal of fame all on his own. It was lonely up here, but hey, he was getting paid, right? And even better, he was still getting laid.

That was all he needed.

Yamato told himself this, breathed in deep, and when he exhaled, he was okay again. His walls were back up, thick and unyielding, and he was separated from the rest of the world. Sentiment was for fools. He ran a hand through his hair and peered out into the dark night. He hadn't bothered turning on his light when he'd come in twenty minutes earlier, planning on a quick shower and change of clothes—things he could do without flooding the entire room with blinding light—before popping back out and hitting a club with Akira. But Sora had called. And now he was here, feeling guilty for something he was sick of defending himself against.

He didn't need this.

"What?" asked Sora.

"I don't care what you want. Or what the rest of them either. I will live my life any way I choose, and I will take care of Takeru as I've been doing all his life, and it is _none of your business_." His voice was cold.

Sora's was quiet. "This is your choice?"

"Yes."

At long last, she sighed. "Then I have one last thing to tell you, Yamato." When he remained silent, she went on. "I bore the Crest of Love," she said softly, "and I know you still love Tai. He, fool that he is, still loves you too. He's waiting, Matt. But not…not for you. Not the you that you are now. He's waiting for his Yama." Subdued, she concluded, "I…won't bother you anymore. Goodbye."

Her voice, so quiet and controlled, so calm and devoid of warmth, all conveyed that she felt the boy she'd grown up with was no longer the man she'd just conversed with. She felt that the old Yamato, the one who had grown out of his antisocial shell, the one who'd laughed and played and teased his friends, who'd supported them, encouraged them, who'd cared so much and loved them all whole-heartedly, was gone.

And she was afraid he'd never be back.

Numbly, Yamato disconnected the call and stared at the cell phone in his hand in shock.

Was she right?

Her words came back to him. _Tai, fool that he is, still loves you too._

Still loves me?

There was a pain in his heart. A little sliver that chipped away at the ice. He blinked and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

_He's waiting, Matt. But not…not for you. Not the you that you are now. _

The person he was now… The person Takeru couldn't look up to anymore? The person who abandoned his friends, who refused to accept their gestures of love, who…was a "cold-blooded, heartless bastard of a player"?

He…he'd wanted this, hadn't he? He'd wanted to be apart from them, because he knew. He knew he'd hurt them by leaving them.

_He's waiting for his Yama._

He'd thought this was best, because he'd chosen to become a singer, to become a celebrity, and you couldn't have that life and his old life at the same time. And he'd chosen this life. A life of cameras and screams and demands, endless demands… A life of anonymous faces and warm sheets and hangovers that pounded his head almost daily.

Was it worth it?

Had he left his friends, his brother, his lover, for…this?

Yamato stared in shock at his hands.

He could feel it crumbling, the wall he'd built, the fortress he'd barred himself behind. He'd never wanted to keep in touch with any of them, because he'd been afraid that one day they'd do exactly this. They'd shatter his perfect world, his perfect illusion, and he'd have to face the reality that this was everything he'd never wanted.

But he'd thought…he'd dreamed, he'd yearned, and wished, and wanted this so much.

He was here now.

All he wanted was to go back.

Still stunned, in sat down abruptly on the edge of his bed.

His friends, their adventures, their past, their smiles and laughter and tears and hopes and fears and promises… Their friendships had been so strong. Made to last, to weather time for eternity.

Time, perhaps, but not Yamato. They hadn't been made to last in the face of Yamato's idiocy. He'd thought this was what he wanted. He'd thought that it was better this way.

Live his life like he wanted, avoid those who would tell him otherwise, and get on with it.

Never to realize that he'd never wanted it.

Not like this.

Not if Takeru…his _otoutochan_…not if he couldn't even look to his _aniki_, his _oniisan_, as a role model.

He'd never wanted to do this to them.

But when he'd realized that he had…he'd thought it best to leave well enough alone. He'd been afraid to change, afraid that it might disrupt some contingency, that it might make life difficult. That things might get worse.

He'd been afraid…

So maybe he should stop. Stop this entire mess that was his life and regroup. Start over?

But he'd never had courage. That'd always been Tai.

Tai. The reason there had been a parade of nameless, faceless people in and out of his bed.

Yamato knew being a celebrity didn't require that you sleep with random fans. Many didn't. Many people were just fine. But those people didn't have a Tai in their past or a Tai-shaped hole left in their hearts, their very souls.

He hadn't expected to fall in love with Tai.

When he did, he hadn't expected to ever leave him.

Look at me now, he thought ironically. He closed his eyes and fell backward onto the bed. Look at me now. Ishida Yamato, famous pop idol, traveling worldwide to grace the screaming masses with a smile or a song. To give them every part of me until there's none left.

None left for his friends. For his brother. For Tai.

Even for himself.

At long last, he flipped open the cell phone that'd been hanging loosely in his hand, and dialed a number. When Akira answered, he said quickly, "I'm not going out tonight, Aki. I'll see you tomorrow."

The first thing Akira demanded to know was whether or not he'd already found someone to fuck that night.

Yamato found it hard to breathe. Did even his bandmates expect this from him? Had their expectations fallen so low as well?

"No," he said thickly. "I—I just don't feel well. I have to think…don't know if I can perform tomorrow."

Understatement of the year there. As he hung up on Akira's concerns and suggestions of calling management, Yamato rolled over onto his stomach, propping his chin up in his hands. Could he perform tomorrow? Could he perform next month? Could he see himself doing this next year, in five years, in ten years?

No pop idol lasted that long.

Whereas his friendships had lasted longer…could last even longer…

Could he do this anymore?

He was lying to himself. He was lying to all his friends. He hadn't been happy in ages, since he'd discovered the truth of stardom. He hadn't been happy since he'd had to leave his friends, had to leave Tai.

_He's waiting, Matt._

Was he?

Was he really waiting for him?

Yamato felt tears well up in his eyes, and roughly, he wiped them away. He's a fool, he told himself. A fool for bothering to care about me, the bastard that I've become.

But Sora had said…

_He's waiting for his Yama._

Not him, not Ishida Yamato, pop idol. But for Yama…Tai's Yama.

Was he still that person? Could he still be that person?

Could he try?

Yamato was still for a moment. It all came down to that, didn't it? Whether or not he could try to leave behind the person, the shell, he'd become, and try to be the person, the friend, the brother, the lover he used to be. No. He blinked. That was wrong; the question wasn't whether or not he could…but whether or not he would.

Would he try?

Will I?

His façade had been crumbling anyway. The glass had cracked, was shattering, and his life was rearranging itself. He could pick up the pieces and put them together again…but differently. To build, not a wall around himself, isolating him from the rest of the world, from the love and friendship that they offered, but to build a bridge…that they may cross safely into him.

A bridge of glass… It would be fragile at first, but it would strengthen with his heart, his determination, and their kindness, their willingness to accept him again. It would strengthen with hope and love and sincerity and reliability and knowledge and light and…courage. His courage.

And it would shine under the sun and glitter like the clearest diamonds in the sky.

Yamato slowly sat up and lifted his cell phone again. He looked at it pensively. Could he—would he?

He dialed.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And—

On the third ring, someone answered. "Hello?"

"Sora."

"Yamato?"

Softly, Yamato said the words she wanted to hear. "You're right."

He would.

He would change, would leave his material life and his illusions of perfection behind in a crumbled heap, would reach out and ask for help, for love, for the courage to be Matt. The courage to be Yama.

And maybe it was women's intuition, or maybe it was because she had held the Crest of Love, but Sora felt it in her heart that he spoke the truth. So she said the only thing she could think of to say that would demonstrate her gladness, their gladness, their joy at his rebirth. The resurrection of their friend.

"Tai loves you, Yama. Come home."

And she knew he was considering it when he let her get away with calling him that.

_Owari_

/ le ciel: the sky, French / l'arc en ciel: arc in the sky/rainbow, also a J-rock band / bishounen: beautiful boy / otoutochan: what you call your younger brother / aniki: word for older brother / oniisan: what you –call- your older brother /

_Notes_: Er, yes, very angsty. Might be a fluffy sequel. Doubt it. Might be a fluffy Taito completely unrelated though. Heh, yes… And, er, don't be too harsh on Yama-chan, he's had it rough. Stardom is tough…you get jaded. And he did. Aww. Umm…don't know what else to say. Except, I guess, review!! Review, review, review! Please?


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